


5 Times Sam and Dean Cuddled

by aceofhearts61



Series: Wyoming [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Comforting!Sam, Crying, Crying!Dean, Cuddling & Snuggling, Curtain Fic, Depression, Domestic, Future Fic, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hunter Retirement, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Nightmares, Other, PTSD, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Soulmates, Queerplatonic Relationships, comforting!dean, depressed!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1257784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofhearts61/pseuds/aceofhearts61
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five different scenarios in which Sam and Dean cuddle, after they retire to Wyoming together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a work in progress, so I'm posting it in chapters, rather than in one long shot.

Dean peeks into Sam’s room and finds his brother lying in bed with his back to the door. It’s only six o’clock in the evening on a Wednesday. They got home from work around half past four. Sam was quiet in the car and disappeared into his room not long after arriving. Dean wondered if Sam had a crappy shift at the hardware store but decided not to ask. Sometimes, a man just needs space to decompress.

But Dean wants to know what to make for dinner.

“Sam? You asleep?” he says.

“Mmmm,” says Sam. “What do you want, Dean?”

“Nothing. Just, deciding what to cook later. You sure you’re okay?”

Sam’s quiet for a moment. “I’ve got a headache. It’s not a big deal.”

Dean takes a few steps into the room, uncertain whether to offer Sam comfort or leave him alone. “Do you want anything? Water? Some Advil?”

“I took one already,” Sam says. “And I’m not thirsty.”

Dean lingers where he stands, unsure what to do. He wants to help, but he doesn’t want to irritate his brother. Maybe if he lays a damp towel over Sam’s brow or on his neck, it’ll soothe him.

“Get over here.”

“What?” says Dean.

Sam stretches his arm out behind him, toward Dean.

Dean only hesitates for a moment, before crossing the room to Sam’s bedside. He looks down at his brother, unsure what Sam wants, and Sam curls his hand into Dean’s shirt and tugs. Dean toes off his shoes, and Sam scoots further in on the bed, leaving room for him. Dean lies down behind Sam, careful not to jostle his brother too much. He rests his head on the pillow and curls his body around Sam’s, wrapping his arm over Sam’s waist.

Dean’s nose is an inch from Sam’s long hair, and he can smell the shampoo Sam uses. Sam’s hulking frame is all hard muscle and soft t-shirt, running hot, and the nearness of him comforts Dean in the most primal, visceral way. But Dean’s sixth sense—the one tuned to Sam’s body, mind, heart, and soul—twitches with the knowledge that his brother is in pain. He wants to make Sam feel better, and as much as he understands that cuddling feels good, it’s not going to cure a headache.

“Sam,” he says. “You sure you don’t want me to get you another Advil? Maybe some ice’ll help.”

“Dean,” says Sam, his voice low and deep. “I’ll be fine. Just stay with me. ‘s all I want.”

Dean pauses. “Okay.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes.

“How bad is it?” Dean asks.

“A four,” says Sam.

Another long pause.

“Something happen?” says Dean.

Sam doesn’t suffer from headaches often, but when he does, it’s usually because of an emotional trigger. Stress, anger, sadness, frustration. It makes Dean nervous, more often than not; he’s afraid the headaches are some long-term side effect of Sam’s mental wall being torn down after he came back from Hell and got his soul back. He’s afraid that Sam’s hit his head and passed out too many times, and there’s something seriously wrong with him. Dean took Sam to the clinic last year to have him examined and tested, much to Sam’s amusement and annoyance, but the doctor assured them that Sam was in good health.

“No,” Sam says. “It’s just a headache.”

Dean decides not to press Sam about it. 

Sam grabs the other pillow on the bed and hugs it to his chest, trapping Dean’s hand between the pillow and Sam’s upper abdomen. Dean’s presses his cheek to the back of Sam’s shoulder and closes his eyes, trying to relax and zone out the way he often does when he and his brother cuddle. It happens when he cuddles with Cas, too. It’s the same type of zoning out that kicks in whenever Dean has sex, except without the heightened senses and the tingling, sensitive skin. His brain shuts down, and he goes to this warm, peaceful space in his body.

When he’s with his brother, his awareness narrows down to the weight and heat and size and shape of Sam’s body next to his, the smell of Sam’s skin that hasn’t changed since he was a baby, Sam’s breathing and Sam’s pulse. It calms Dean so deeply that it puts him to sleep if he and Sam cuddle long enough. All of Dean’s emotional and psychological baggage temporarily disappears. Everything’s okay.

When he opens his eyes again, he realizes that he dozed off. Sam’s breathing slow and shallow against his chest. Dean’s pretty sure he’s asleep, which means the headache must be fading out.

Dean decides to stay with Sam, until Sam stirs.

They can order take-out for dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

The PTSD hit Dean within the first three months living in Wyoming, and it took him two years of medication, therapy, and stunning amounts of love and patience from Sam and Castiel, to finally experience a significant decrease in symptoms. The flashbacks, the nightmares, the panic attacks, the anger and irritability, the erratic sleep patterns became so occasional, that Dean was pretty much back to his old self. Sam could see glimpses of the young man that Dean once was, when Dad was still alive, before Dean went to Hell. He knew that Dean would need more time to completely recover and may have to do emotional and psychological maintenance long-term, but it seemed like they were finally out of the woods, past the worst of the illness.

Then, the depression hit.

* * *

Sam comes home from his afternoon shift at the hardware store later than usual. The Impala's parked in front of the big house Sam and Dean share, gleaming in the sunshine. It's just after four o'clock, and Dean should be at the garage until five. But Sam drove past Lou's on his way out of town and found out that Lou had let Dean off for the day around three because business was slow.

"Dean," Sam calls out as soon as he's inside, wiping his shoes on the mat. "You here?"

No answer.

Sam starts to walk down the corridor splitting the house front to back, glancing into the living room as he passes by. Maybe Dean's next door with Cas or walking on their property.

He sees Dean's boots outside his brother's room, the right boot tipped on its side. He doesn't know why, but the sight of them fills him with uneasiness. Dean's bedroom door is almost shut, and Sam pushes it open cautiously.

The older Winchester is lying on the bed, facing the window in the wall to the right of the entrance. He's on top of the blanket and sheets, not under them, still dressed in jeans, socks, and his gray thermal t-shirt. The curtains are drawn open, bluish gray light filtering through the window and softening the edges of everything in the room.

Sam looks in at Dean and thinks for a moment that he might be asleep—but he sees a twitch in Dean's body and realizes something's wrong.

"Dean?" he says, voice quiet and careful.

The other man doesn't answer, so Sam steps inside and stands at the foot of the bed to look at him. Dean's eyes are open, and he's crying, tears snaking down his cheeks slow and lazy. He's absolutely silent and still. Sam briefly wonders if maybe Dean doesn't realize he's crying.

"Dean," Sam says, doing his best to sound calm. "What's wrong?"

The older Winchester lowers his gaze and wipes at his face with the back of his hand, sniffling just a little. "Nothing," he says, voice raspy.

Sam has to try hard not to roll his eyes. Dean's been pretending that he's okay when he's anything but, for so long, that sometimes Sam wants to quit asking how he is and just get on with helping him. "Did something happen at work?"

Dean swallows and looks in the general direction of the window again. "No," he says. "Nothing happened. Really."

Sam pauses as he starts to remember that Dean's been moody a lot over the last couple weeks. It's been inconsistent: sometimes, he's fine, and sometimes, he's withdrawn and sad. Most people wouldn't notice the difference because Dean's good at acting like he's all right, but Sam can feel it when his brother's off. The energy in the house, the energy between them, changes. When Dean goes straight for the whiskey before dinner and skips the beer, he's upset about something. When he sits in his rocking chair on the porch with a drink for a long time in the evenings and just watches the landscape surrounding their property, he's preoccupied with something sad or wistful, dredging up bad memories. When he loses his appetite or can't sleep, something's bothering him.

Sam's noticed a little bit of everything in the last two weeks or so, but he didn't take it seriously because nothing's changed about their lives. Everything's fine. And it's normal to have off days.

But Dean crying isn't normal.

"Sam, I'm serious," Dean says, his voice low and tired. "Nothing happened. Nothing's wrong. I'm just—I need some time. Okay?"

Sam goes around to the left side of the bed and sits next to Dean, his back to the door. Dean's facing away from him. Sam thinks, then says, "Maybe nothing happened, but you're obviously upset. I guess you don't have to tell me why if you don't want to, but... Let me help you, if I can."

Dean breathes out and closes his eyes.

Sam lifts up his hand tentatively and cups it around the front of Dean's shoulder. Neither of them speaks for a minute, until Sam feels Dean shaking against him.

"It's me, Sam," Dean says, his voice broken. "Something's wrong with me. I feel like crap, and I can't shake it. I don't know why. Okay? I was good, and all of a sudden, it's like I can't—I can't get up."

Sam immediately thinks of Dean's medication regimen. He was on an anti-anxiety drug and something else to help with his nightmares until he was stable enough that he got his doctor's clearance to gradually wean himself off the pills. He's been med-free for a few months now, and so far, none of his PTSD symptoms have popped back up. Maybe this depression thing is new. Maybe it's the next stage of Dean working through all the stuff he lived through in the past.

Sam's going to have to talk to him about going back to the doctor and considering an anti-depressant, but right now, his brother needs him to be supportive.

"I thought I was cured," Dean whispers. "Maybe I should move out until I get my shit together."

Sam almost physically flinches. "Hey," he says, his voice firm and a little louder. "Stop it. You're not going anywhere. Whatever this is, we're going to get you through it. Together."

"I won't make you live with that person I was. I do that, and you'll be the one who leaves."

Sam looks away from his brother and shuts his eyes. His heart stings in his chest. He's torn between anger and guilt because he would never leave Dean for being weak, but he's abandoned his brother before.

"You waited so long for this life," Dean says, voice thin and pained. "I don't want to ruin it."

Sam curls his fingers into Dean's shoulder, opens his eyes, and shakes his head. "God damn it, Dean," he says softly. "You're not leaving. This is your home. Let's just take this one day at a time. Okay?"

Dean doesn't answer.

Sam looks over at him but can't see Dean's face. He only contemplates it for a moment before he lets go of Dean's shoulder, leans down to untie his boot laces and take off his shoes, and lies down on the bed behind his brother.

Sam wraps his arm around Dean's waist and pulls him snug against his chest, feels the way Dean's whole body tenses before completely relaxing, and touches his brow to the back of Dean's head. They lie there for a couple minutes, Sam's eyes closed and Dean's scent in his nose, before Dean finally starts to quake the way he does when he's holding in a sob.

Sam wants to tell him, _Cry. Go ahead and cry. It's just us here._

But he doesn't speak, knowing that Dean's started now and can't stop. Soon, Dean gasps and gulps for air, the sound wet and not quite a sob.

Sam just holds onto him and listens. He's got his own surreal history of trauma, wounds, and suffering. No one understands where Dean's been or where he is right now better than Sam. And Sam's been on the inside of madness before. He's come out of it—nothing short of a miracle—so he can believe that Dean will be healed. Maybe that's why it had to be. Sam's Hell, his insanity, his agony. Maybe he chose to bear his own cross so that he could stay this close to his brother.

"I love you," Sam whispers. "I've got you, Dean."

Dean rolls over to face Sam, buries his face in Sam's neck and the slope of Sam's shoulder, and Sam drapes his arm around him again, big hand flat against Dean's back. Sam's consciousness is full of this: their body heat, the dampness of Dean's skin, the salty smell of his tears.

"Hey," Sam says, quiet. "I've got you."

He starts to stroke Dean's back and thinks about how much he'd rather have this hurt brother to nurse every day for however long it takes, than no brother at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of who you haven't read the other stories in the Wyoming!verse, Leah is an OFC who's a close friend of Sam's. They have sex on occasion, but they're not a romantic couple. She's very supportive of Dean and Sam's partnership and the Winchester Family of 3 (Sam, Dean, Cas).

He's walking through the house—his and Dean's house in Wyoming—but it's empty of furniture and decoration and the Winchesters' personal possessions. The windows are open, curtains floating out of them like the empty dresses of dead women. He calls out for his brother but no one answers. He calls out for Castiel, but the angel doesn't appear. As he approaches the front of the house, he notices the front door flung wide open, the jamb framing a blonde woman sitting at the top of the porch steps with her back to Sam.

"Leah?" he says to her, as he reaches the doorway.

She looks over her shoulder at him—but it isn't Leah.

Sam's breath catches in his chest and he freezes. "Jessica."

She smiles at him and turns around again to face the landscape sprawling before the house.

Sam hesitates, then musters up the courage to step outside and join her. He sits down next to her and stares, not knowing how to feel. She looks exactly the same as she did when he last saw in their Palo Alto apartment, twenty-two years old and too pretty to live. She's wearing a floral skirt, button down blouse, and her worn out pair of blue Converse. She looks peaceful, like she could sit here on Sam's porch forever in perfect contentment.

"What are you doing here?" Sam says.

"Someone had to come get you," says Jess. "You deserve to know the truth, Sam."

He shakes his head a little, frowning. "What truth?"

Jess looks at him, her eyes gentle, reaches out and lays her hand on his knee. "It's not real. You've been making it all up because you don't want to live without him."

"What are you talking about?"

"This house in Wyoming. This whole life you think you have. It's a dream, Sam. Everything since Dean's death has been a dream." She squeezes his knee just a little. "He's in Hell, Sam. He never got out. And you couldn't live with that."

Sam just looks at her, brow furrowed, the warm weight of her hand familiar and unfamiliar, the emptiness of the house behind them like a fire burning a hole through his heart.

The whole world is silent, as if he and Jess are the only two people in it.

She takes her hand away and looks forward again.

"No," he says. "That's not possible."

The corner of her mouth barely curls, a wistful suggestion of a smile.

He couldn't have been asleep the last twenty years. The almost-Apocalypse, Lucifer possessing him, his time in the Cage, Leviathans, Bobby's death, the three trials, Castiel, Kevin, Charlie, Amelia, the Bunker, the Men of Letters... They must've been real.

Dean. All this time.

Sam twists around and looks back into the house—still empty, the long corridor reaching deeper than he remembers. He looks into the front lot again and realizes the Impala's missing.

"I'm sorry," Jess says. "You were going to figure it out eventually. I didn't want you to be alone when you did."

Sam's heart starts beating too fast. He's shaking his head and leaning away from her, mind racing. If his life isn't real, what is?

He's about to bolt, about to start screaming for Dean, but Jess reaches up and presses her hand to his neck, fingers slipping into his hair, and kisses him. He can taste her strawberry lip balm, smell her floral perfume and the sea in her hair.

For a split second, he's a college kid again, his whole life ahead of him. He's going to ask her to marry him. He's going to leave his past behind. He's going to live a happy, normal life. He's going to stay innocent.

She pulls away from him.

Disappears.

Leaves him alone.

* * *

Sam wakes up in the dark, breathless. He's in his room at home—in the house he shares with his brother, twenty-five minutes outside of Big Piney, WY. He turns on his night table lamp and looks around the room. Everything's exactly as he left it when he fell asleep. He turns the digital alarm clock toward him: four twenty-seven AM.

Sam only lies there in his bed for about thirty seconds before deciding that no, he can't just roll over and go back to sleep. He throws back the sheet, comforter, and blanket, swings his legs over the side of the bed, and slides his feet into his slippers.

The house is pitch dark except the milky light of stars and moon sneaking through the windows. Silent. Warm. Sam touches the walls to test their solidity, feels the floor solid under his feet, sees the door to his brother's room across the corridor cracked open and almost doesn't want to see to the other side, in case Jess was right.

Sam pushes the door open and stands in the doorway, looking at Dean's silhouette in the bed. A minute or two passes, and before he can turn around and go back to his room, Dean stirs with that sixth sense they both have about each other, after decades of sharing motel rooms. He sits up and says, "Sam? What is it?"

Tears rush into Sam's eyes at the sound of Dean's groggy, rough voice. He feels stupid for being so afraid, for getting this emotional, all because of a stupid dream. He's had enough nightmares in his life that he should be used to them. He should be able to shake them off, and most of the time, he can.

"Nothing," he says, the sound of his own voice weak and strange. "Sorry."

He starts to turn around and shut the door with him.

"Hey," says Dean, a little more alert. "C'mere."

Sam pauses and hesitates, just staring into the darkness of Dean's room with his hand on the door knob. "I was just checking on you, that's all," he says. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Dude. Don't make me chase you."

Sam doesn't actually want to go back to his room, so he caves without any more fuss, sitting on the empty side of Dean's bed as his brother moves over to make room for him.

"Bad dream?" Dean says, after a moment.

Once in a while, Sam wishes they didn't have intimate knowledge of each other, borderline telepathic connection, whatever internal tuning fork that endows them with the ability to just _know_ what's going on with each other all the damn time. But it's not often, not since they retired here and learned to just give in to their relationship. Sam's come to appreciate the fact that there's not a whole lot of guess work between him and Dean, regardless if it means that most of their feelings, thoughts, needs, and desires aren't private even when they're unvoiced.

Dean sighs behind him, a sound of resignation. _If you don't want to tell me the details, fine._

Sam's embarrassed he had the dream at all, doubly embarrassed that it's this disturbing to him. He'd rather have a flashback to Hell.

Dean taps Sam's side with the back of his hand. _If you're going to get in, get in._

Sam lies down under the covers and waits for Dean to speak or roll over away from him. Instead, Dean stretches out his arm toward Sam, holding it up off the bed. Sam looks over at him and doesn't respond. Dean waves his hand in the air, beckoning toward himself. Sam closes the space between them and presses up against Dean's side, curling on his own. He rests his head on Dean's shoulder and chest, feels Dean's arm bend around his back as he drapes his own arm across Dean's belly.

Sam closes his eyes and exhales, a good-sized chunk of his anxiety evaporating. Dean's warm and firm next to him, chest rising and falling with his breath, heart beating not far from Sam's ear, and Sam can smell him, that scent belonging to Dean's skin that Sam has associated with home and safety since he was an infant.

Dean's head flops to his right on the pillow, chin resting against the top of Sam's forehead and breath blowing through Sam's hair as he exhales.

Sam lies awake, holding onto him, after Dean's slipped back into sleep—and he realizes that if Dean had never come back from Hell, Sam wouldn't have lived this long at all. He would've found a way to join his brother.

Better an eternity on the rack with Dean than a million years in Heaven alone.


	4. Chapter 4

Their third year in Wyoming, a storm blows through one weekend. It’s cold, so cold that they can feel it penetrate their layers and their skin and work its way into their bones, but instead of snow, they get sleet and freezing rain. It starts late in the middle of the night, early on a Saturday, and the rain’s still coming down when Dean wakes up around nine thirty. Sam’s already drinking his first cup of coffee in the kitchen, staring out the blurred window above the sink. The heat’s on in the house, but he feels too exposed in his single layer pajamas. A shiver jerks through his body, and he turns around intent on the sitting room opposite the kitchen, where he can curl up on the sofa and search the TV channels for local weather forecast.

But Dean comes in, shuffling in his socks as usual, looking like he could go right back to bed. Sam pauses and watches him find the coffee brewer, pouring the coffee into the mug Sam left out for him. Dean takes a few sips, sighs and hums in satisfaction, then looks over at his brother as if noticing him for the first time.

“It’s crazy out there,” he says.

“Yeah,” says Sam. “I hope you weren’t planning on going anywhere later. I think I heard it’s supposed to be pretty bad all day.”

Dean gives a small shrug and drinks more coffee.

Sam goes on into the sitting room and settles on one end of the couch, switching the old TV set on with the remote. He finds the weather channel and waits for the local segment to come on.

Dean comes toward him and stops in the threshold of the room, leaning against the wall jamb. For a few minutes, they’re both silent, listening to the television. The anchor reports that heavy rain and sleet will last throughout the day in Sublette, Lincoln, Sweetwater, and Uinta Counties and move east across the state starting tomorrow evening. It’s thirty-five degrees outside and feels more like thirty with wind chill, but it’s not expected to snow.

“You think Cas is up?” Dean says, awake and alert now, his voice smoothed out.

“I dunno,” says Sam, glancing at him. “But you’re not going next door without putting some real clothes on.”

“Maybe I’ll call him later, see if he wants to have lunch here.”

Sam shuts off the TV. “Aren’t your feet cold?”

Dean looks down at his white socks. “Not anymore. I’m not really feeling breakfast, so I guess I’m gonna go find something to do. Check my email or something.”

He starts turning his back on the room, when Sam says, “Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Sam hesitates, looking at his older brother with a little bashfulness. He’s suddenly aware of the warmth of his coffee mug against his palms.

“What?” Dean says.

“You mind if.... I’m kinda in the mood for.... you want to just hang out in my bed? With me? For a little while....”

Dean smiles. Sam expects a wisecrack, but Dean just says, “All right.”

Dean leads the way down the long hall to the back of the house. He shuts Sam’s bedroom door behind them, and Sam drains his coffee and leaves the empty mug on his dresser. They climb into the bed on opposite sides, and Dean sets his coffee down on the night table. Sam’s got sheets as soft as Dean’s, purchased at the Bed Bath and Beyond in Casper not long after they moved in here, but instead of a thick comforter like the one on Dean’s bed, he has two blankets: one flannel and a quilt. Sam runs hotter than Dean—in the summertime, he sleeps with just the one sheet some nights—but he does like to be warm in the winter.

He lies on his right side facing Dean and looks at his brother for direction. Dean rolls toward him and under Sam’s arm, pressing his face into Sam’s chest and wrapping his own arm around Sam’s waist. Sam hugs him back, his bottom arm folded and shoved underneath his pillow. Dean breathes him in, eyes closed, instantly flooded with a sense of comfort and security. Sam’s eyes are half-open, as he listens to the rain and breathes, feeling Dean breathe with him.

Sam spent most of his life chasing after the things he didn’t have in childhood: safety, stability, peace, home. The years in between Stanford and Wyoming wore him down to the point where he’d almost given up on those desires for good. Every time he thought he’d finally cut a break and found what he was looking for, it was snatched away fast: Jessica, Dean, Amelia, Dean. His apartment in Palo Alto, the Men of Letters Bunker. He’d experienced peace and home and safety enough that he knew what they were, he knew they were possible, but he could never hold onto them.

The last six months of his hunting career, he was so tired of the job and the life that he started to get sloppy. If he was going to die the soldier’s death at the end of a short life, so be it and why bother trying to stall? He wasn’t afraid anymore. At least dead, he wouldn’t have to worry about the next loss, the next big mess, the next time he’d survive his brother. Maybe heaven was the only place where Sam could have a piece of what he wanted. The Horseman Death promised him once that he could ensure a permanent rest, so Sam knew the next time could be final.

But Dean saw him. Dean recognized that Sam had finally reached a point of resignation, and while he was selfish enough to keep his brother alive and hunting at any cost, he wasn’t selfish enough to watch Sam settle for joylessness.

So they quit. And Sam discovered that everything he ever wanted to feel, he could have with Dean, on a quiet property in the middle of nowhere. The first time it hit him that he was feeling safe and at peace, with his brother instead of without, it brought tears to Sam’s eyes.

Lightning cracks loud somewhere in the east, and a roll of a thunder booms, reverberating through the walls of the house. Dean squeezes Sam to him, and Sam smiles a little bit, letting his eyelids drop the rest of the way. Neither of them intended to make this cuddling thing a habit, but they’re both glad they did, even if they’d never admit it out loud. Nobody knows they do it, except Cas, and nobody needs to. This is for them, for each other.

Dean listens to Sam’s heart beating, the most beautiful sound in the world to him. He’s cocooned in warmth and softness, and he has nowhere to be and nothing to do. Nothing to fear. He’s happy. Comfortable. He hopes he and Sam have years more of this.

Sam rolls over eventually, and Dean curls around him on cue, pressed to Sam’s back.

After a few minutes of silence, Sam chuckles to himself.

“What?” Dean says, slurring the word.

“I just remembered that time I shoved snow down your shirt last winter,” says Sam.

“Bitch. Don’t forget I got you good for that.”

“Yeah, I know. Jerk.”

They stay in bed until Dean’s stomach grumbles.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the last chapter of this fic! Sorry for the long wait.

Sam meets Leah at the Big Piney-Marbleton annual Maypole social, a month after he and Dean and Cas settle in Wyoming. With her beautiful smile and her sunny blonde hair, she stands out to Sam in the crowd, drawing him like a magnet. She’s wearing a pale blue sun dress and diamond ring on a gold chain around her neck. She’s the first blonde to catch his eye in years, and if she reminds him of Jessica, he won’t admit it, even to himself. They make small talk with goofy smiles, like a couple of smitten teenagers, and trade phone numbers.

Dean teases him about it on the way home, in the car. Says it’s about time Sam got laid again and it’s just Dean’s luck that the prettiest single woman in town wants his little brother. 

Sam calls her the next day. She agrees to meet him for coffee next weekend.

* * *

 

They sit across from each other in a window booth at the Miracle Diner in Big Piney, two of only five customers present at four o’clock on a Sunday. The waitress chats up Leah the way people in small towns do, and Leah introduces Sam to her. They both order coffee, nothing else.

It’s another beautiful spring day in Wyoming, the sun hanging low in the sky now, light still shining through the wide windows of the diner. Leah’s got her hair down again, and she’s wearing a chambray shirt unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled over a floral print dress. The same ring on a gold chain hangs around her neck.

Sam tells her only the bare minimum about moving to Wyoming with his brother. Not much else beyond what he mentioned at the Maypole social. Fortunately, she doesn’t press him for more information.

They talk about the town, about all the outdoor activities available in the area, about how harsh the winters really get, and where Sam can get the best pie. It isn’t until after they get through all that, Sam realizes how little they’ve each talked about themselves. Most of Sam’s past is off limits, and it’s hard to say anything about who he is without referring back to his old life. The same can’t be true for Leah, and he wonders if she’s been waiting for Sam to ask her personal questions. He’s just not sure where to start, on this first lengthy conversation.

They’re quiet for a minute or two, peering at each other with polite smiles and using their coffee cups as distractions. The silence isn’t quite awkward.

“Can I ask about the ring?” Sam says.

The diamond ring and golden chain glint against her skin. She glances down, lifts her hand to her chest and touches the ring. She pauses, then looks Sam in the eye and says, “I’m a widow.”

Sam feels his heart sink, regret like a heavy stone at the bottom of his stomach. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay. It was an innocent question.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” says Sam. “It’s gotta be a sensitive subject.”

Leah smiles and looks down, quiet for a beat. “It’s been about a year and a half. He crashed his truck on the highway one night, when the weather was bad. It was snowing. There was ice on the road, and he.... lost control.”

“I’m sorry.”

Leah doesn’t look sad but she keeps her head bowed.

“What was his name?” Sam asks, after a moment.

“Ethan,” she says. “Ethan Fairchild.”

“You still go by your married name?”

Leah nods. “I still live in our house. Still wear this ring. My friends think I should have started to move on by now, though what that’s supposed to look like is beyond me.”

“Everybody deals with grief at their own pace,” says Sam, with the understanding and compassion of someone who knows from experience.

Leah looks at him with those clear, blue eyes full of something like gratitude or relief. She is the most beautiful woman Sam’s seen in a long time, and it’s not just because of her physical appearance.

“Sam,” she says. “You seem like a really nice guy, and I don’t want to waste your time. I’m glad we met up today, but the truth is, I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I’m not even looking for a date. I’m not ready. And I don’t know when that’ll change or if it will. I’m sorry if that’s disappointing to hear.”

Sam shakes his head. “I’m not disappointed. I get it. Believe me. I didn’t exactly ask you here on a date, to be honest. Not that I wouldn’t want to go on a date with you but..... I don’t know if I want a girlfriend right now either. I’m sort of in the middle of this big transition period, I’ve only been here in Wyoming for five or six weeks, and I’m still not settled yet. I could use a new friend here, and I just thought you might be a good candidate, so.”

Leah smiles. “I wouldn’t mind a new friend.”

He smiles back at her. 

They stay another thirty minutes, making small talk about the local library and bookstore. Sam walks Leah to her car, and they agree to hang out again soon.

 

* * *

 

He researches her husband’s death. Finds an article online about the accident from a county news website and an old listing for his church memorial service. Stumbles on a photograph of the couple on their wedding day six years ago, along with a feature on the event from the local paper. The bride and groom are looking at each other, on the church steps. Leah’s holding her bouquet in one hand, and she’s smiling big, the happiest face Sam’s ever seen.

His heart aches for her.

* * *

 

Sam and Leah spend the summer becoming friends. He finds out that she’s an RN at the Marbleton-Big Piney Clinic in Marbleton, and after Sam starts working day shifts at the Hardware and Guns in Big Piney, they sometimes meet for lunch. They meet at the library in Big Piney and read together for a couple hours some evenings, not talking much except when they browse the shelves together or one asks the other if their current reading material is any good. They go to the movies a couple times in Pinedale, forty minutes northeast of Big Piney and Marbleton. They sit right next to each other and share a small bag of popcorn, but they don’t touch, except for the occasional elbow brushing.

She doesn’t invite him to her house until the break of August. There are photographs of her and her husband framed all over the place: wedding photos, honeymoon photos, pictures of camping trips and Christmases and family gatherings. Sam tries not to look at them, while Leah’s there to see him do it. He doesn’t mention her husband and neither does she, but the dead man’s presence is undeniable, almost something solid. Sam knows a thing or two about that, not the kind of ghosts he used to kill but the love of the living for the dead.

Sam gets hired on at the saloon as a part-time bartender, and Leah visits him there one night, even though it isn’t her kind of place. She only orders one beer and takes too long to finish it. Lucky for Sam, it’s a slow shift, and he can spend most of it talking to her. By then, he can tell that she’s starting to let her guard down with him, just a little. She smiles at him more. They’re getting comfortable around each other.

In September, when the leaves begin to change color, they go on a walk in the woods behind Leah’s property. He kisses her on impulse, and she doesn’t pull away. They look at each other without speaking, some kind of understanding passing between them—about their friendship, what it can be and what it can’t. They walk back to the house, side by side without touching, and she kisses him as he’s about to leave through the front door.

“We don’t have to do this,” Sam tells her, meaning it. “I like being your friend, and I don’t want to screw it up.”

“I know,” she says.

They have sex in her bed, slow and gentle, and she starts to cry as soon as they’re done. He asks her if she wants him to leave, and she shakes her head without looking at him. Sam holds her until she’s calm again.

The next time they see each other after that, Leah says, “I don’t want to do that again. Not anytime soon, at least. I’m sorry.”

Sam just shakes his head and says, “I don’t care if we never do that again.” 

She reaches across the table and grabs his hand.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere along the line, Dean stops teasing Sam about Leah. His little brother, as usual, is secretive about the relationship and his own feelings and thoughts on her. Dean knows that Sam is spending time with her, yet he never sees them together or even catches Sam on the phone with her more than once. What few times Sam and Dean and Leah are in the same place at the same time—like the big July 4th party that everyone in town attends each year—Sam and Leah don’t do much more than smile and nod at each other from a distance.

September’s almost over when Dean realizes that maybe he’s been too distracted by his own job at the auto shop and his efforts to furnish, decorate, and organize the house to notice how often Sam disappears to go see Leah. It isn’t every day or even every other day. Most nights, he’s home for dinner, and most weekends, he and Dean either hang out on their property or go into town together. But slowly, Sam’s absences have been increasing. He hasn’t said a word about dating Leah, hasn’t called her his girlfriend or mentioned her much at all, but it’s suddenly obvious to Dean that she isn’t just a fling. And considering that Sam hasn’t tried bringing her around to hang out with Dean and Cas since he met her five months ago, she must not be just another friend the way Charlie and Jodie Mills were friends with the boys.

“Cas?” Dean says to the angel one night after dinner, when Sam’s working at the saloon. “Is my brother in love with that girl?”

Cas blinks at him. “In love?”

“Yeah. Yeah, is he—has he said anything to you? About Leah?”

“No,” says Cas, looking up at Dean with those earnest blue eyes. “He hasn’t.”

Dean must look as bewildered as he feels because the angel only pauses for a moment before continuing.

“Dean. I’m sure if Sam were romantically involved with someone, he would tell you.”

“I don’t know that he would,” Dean replies, hands now wrapped around the back of his empty chair at the kitchen table. “Maybe he’s just keeping it quiet until it gets serious.”

“Has he been different lately?”

“No..... I don’t think so.”

“Well, then I doubt anything significant is going on,” says Cas.

Dean eyes him skeptically. “My brother’s hidden enough crap from me over the years that I don’t have a problem believing that he could hide something like this if he really wanted to.”

“He doesn’t have a reason to. Does he?”

Dean doesn’t answer, his heart already sinking in his chest and his stomach twisting. He remembers when Becky Rosen dosed his brother with love potion, and Sam married her out of the blue, then took off to start his new life with her. He remembers that a lifetime ago, Sam was going to propose to Jess. He remembers them from that twisted fantasy the Djinn dumped him into, how happy Sam was, the diamond ring on Jess’s finger.

Sam’s going to leave him. 

And there’s nothing Dean can do about it.

 

* * *

 

“So does your brother have a girlfriend?” Leah asks.

She and Sam are sitting on her back porch, watching the sunset and drinking hot tea.

“Why?” Sam says, with a mock-serious face. “You interested?”

Leah smiles, and Sam breaks into a big grin, half chuckling.

“I’m just curious,” she says. “He’s a good-looking guy. I’m sure what few single women are left around here clocked him on their radar as soon as you got to town.”

Sam shakes his head. “Romance isn’t really Dean’s thing.”

“What is?”

“Sex,” Sam says, huffing.

“Right.”

“I told you we used to live on the road, for a long time, so it was always pretty easy for him to get away with just hooking up and whatever. Now, I don’t know what he’s going to do. But I don’t see him getting a girlfriend anytime soon.”

“What about you?” Leah says.

Sam looks at her. “What about me?”

“You going to give the eligible bachelorettes of Big Piney-Marbleton a shot?”

He blinks at her, pausing. “No.”

“Why not?” she says, softening her voice. The question’s there, unspoken: are you waiting for me?

Sam looks away, at the trees and the plains behind Leah’s house. “I guess I’m just not interested,” he says. “I just want to get a hang of this new life, you know? I want to—figure things out with my brother. I want us to become a part of this place. And work on our relationship. I don’t really need a girlfriend....”

Leah’s watching him, legs folded up on her seat and her knees bent in front of her.

Sam sips on his tea and glances at her.

“It sounds like you kinda want to stay with Dean,” she says. “Like you want your future to be something you share with him, instead of sharing it with a girlfriend or a wife.”

Sam looks at her, this time a little cautious. “Yeah. I guess I do. I know that’s not conventional.”

Leah shrugs. “I think if you find something that works for you, someone who makes you happy, it doesn’t matter what it is. You just have to go with it.”

Sam’s eyes soften, his mouth too.

They’re quiet for a minute, looking ahead together.

“I heard of siblings like that once,” Leah says. “Sisters. They lived together their whole lives, up in Jackson Hole. Never married. I think they were pretty happy.”

“Yeah?” Sam says.

Leah looks at him. “Yeah.”

* * *

 

Sam drives west, out of Big Piney and into the wilderness, back to the two acres where he and Dean and Cas live. His truck is the only vehicle on the road once he leaves town behind him. Now, after nightfall, the way home is dark except for the stars thick in the sky. Once he enters the woods surrounding the Winchester property, all he can see outside the scope of his headlights are the silhouettes of trees around him and above him. The yellow lights in the windows of his and Dean’s house emerge ahead as he gets closer to it, and he smiles, comforted by the sight. The sky opens up again as he enters the wide clearing, pale starlight suddenly streaming down and shining white on the grass and the houses. He parks in his spot and walks up to the porch steps, wondering if Dean’s making dinner already and if Cas is going to join them.

“Dean, I’m home,” Sam calls out as he shuts the front door and hangs up his jacket on the coat rack. The light’s on in the kitchen and one of the lamps in the living room is too. The house is quiet. Sam starts to make his way down the long corridor that splits the house front to back.

“Dean?”

He doesn’t get an answer. The door the Dean’s bedroom is open, Sam can see a light coming from within as he gets close. He stops in the doorway and sees his brother picking articles of clothing out of his dresser and packing them into one of his duffel bags on the bed.

“Dean?” Sam says. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” says Dean without looking at him. He throws some socks into his bag. “Just gotta get away for a few days.”

Sam watches him in silence for a few moments, his sense of alarm spiking. “Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“Is something wrong?”

Dean doesn’t answer.

“Are you mad at me?” Sam says.

Dean disappears into the bathroom that they share, and Sam follows to stand in the doorway.

“Dean, answer me. If something’s wrong, we have to talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, okay, Sam?” Dean grabs his toothbrush and toothpaste and turns to look at his brother. “I need some space, some me time, so I’m taking it. End of story.”

Sam moves out of his way as Dean heads out of the bathroom and back into his bedroom.

“Except for the fact that you’ve been acting weird for days,” Sam says.

“Oh, I’ve been weird?”

“Yeah! What, you think I haven’t noticed? You’ve been moody and standoffish, you take off without me and stay gone for hours, you barely talk to me. You’ve been drinking more.”

Dean rolls his eyes and zips up his bag.

Sam just slouches in the bedroom doorway, his eyes glistening and his chest tight. He’s been worrying about it all this time and now he can’t help but ask: “Do you want out? Is this your way of bailing? Say you’re going to go have ‘me time’ for a few days and just never come back?”

Dean doesn’t answer and doesn’t look at Sam.

Sam nods, holding back tears, his throat already painfully closed up. “Why? Why would you do this, instead of talking to me about what’s going on? If you really hate it here that much, you could’ve just told me.”

Dean still doesn’t reply, keeping his head down and his eyes on the floor.

Sam wipes a tear away with the back of his hand, as it reaches the middle of his cheek. “You’re going to go back to hunting, aren’t you?”

“This isn’t about hunting,” Dean says, his voice lowered. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Sam turns his back on Dean, close his eyes, feels the tears rolling hot down his face. He feels heartbroken.

“Listen, I just want you to be happy. It’s easier this way, if I go. You don’t have to throw me out when the time comes. Whenever you and Leah decide to move in together—”

Sam whips around to look at Dean. “Leah?” he says. “This is about Leah?”

“She’s a good girl, Sam,” says Dean. “You’re not getting any younger, and you only get so many chances in life with someone like her. I’m not going to screw that up. Not again.”

Sam almost laughs, a strange kind of relief flooding his body. “You’re leaving because you think I’m in love with Leah?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No!” Sam says, wiping his cheeks with the backs of his hands. “No, I’m not. We’re not even a couple, Dean. She’s my friend. I care about her, I like her a lot, but I don’t want to run off with her. I don’t want to—to replace you with her. My God.”

Dean suddenly looks alone, sad and bewildered with his hand clasping at one strap of his duffel bag. Not at all convinced that he’s wrong about Sam and Leah.

“Dean.” Sam crosses the room and grips his big brother’s shoulders in both hands, squaring the other man in front of him. “Dean, I am not leaving you. I want you here, more than anything. I want this life with you. If I was going to go do my own thing, I wouldn’t have come to Wyoming with you in the first place. I wouldn’t have moved into this house with you.”

“You don’t have to give up a normal life for me,” Dean says. “You’re young enough, you can still have the wife and kids. You deserve a family, Sam.”

“You are my family,” Sam says, squeezing Dean’s shoulders, almost shaking him a little. “I’m not giving up anything. I want a normal life with you. That’s why we’re here. So we can try to build something good together.”

Dean looks at Sam like he wants desperately to believe him. He swallows, eyes shining. “I can’t—”

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t let myself get attached to all this, just to have you walk out on me one day. I want this, Sam. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. But if it’s just going to fall apart like everything else in my life always has, then I don’t want to go down this road. If you’re going to get sick of playing house with me and want the real deal with some girl, then I’d rather just go now. Okay?”

Sam pulls Dean into a tight hug. Dean doesn’t try to break away.

“You idiot,” Sam says, too many emotions boiling in his chest to make sense of what he’s feeling. “How many times do I have to say it, huh? I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to live this life without you. I love you.” Another tear falls down Sam’s face. “I love you.”

Dean’s holding onto Sam, and he presses his hands into Sam’s back now, tightening his arms around the bigger man.

“Please don’t go,” Sam says.

Dean doesn’t answer but he doesn’t pull away either.

“Dean. I’m not going to leave you. Don’t leave me.”

“Okay,” Dean says, after a beat, his voice raw.

Sam feels relief flood his body, the muscles relaxing. He cups the back of his brother’s head with his hand and stands there with him for a little while longer, then pulls out of the hug just enough to look at Dean. His brother looks as emotional as Sam feels, face flushed and eyes shining.

Sam reaches around Dean, grabs the duffel bag by one of the handles and yanks it off the bed, dropping it on the floor. He takes Dean’s wrist in his hand and pulls him toward the bed, climbing onto it himself.

Dean stops and hesitates. “What are you doing?”

“Just lie down with me, okay?”

“Sam....” Dean whines. “We’re not gonna....”

“If you don’t need it, then humor me because I do,” Sam says. Then, after a pause: “You know, you can drop the tired macho crap now. It’s just you and me. And I’m not judging you.”

Dean continues to give him a reluctant bitch face, but after half a minute, he toes off his shoes and lies down next to Sam. He rolls onto his side, facing the door and away from his brother, and that’s just what Sam wants. Sam curls his arm around Dean from behind and holds him close, knees slightly bent against Dean’s.

They’re quiet for a while, the two of them breathing together in a natural sync, their eyes closed. Sam can smell the pine and motor oil and leather in Dean’s flannel, the faded cologne and sweat on his skin, and it’s soothing in the most primal way, one of the most familiar scents in the world to Sam. They haven’t cuddled since the night Sam convinced Dean to quit hunting for good, back when they still lived in the Men of Letters bunker. That night, it was Dean holding Sam, comforting him to sleep after their emotional and semi-drunken conversation. Nine months ago. Sam could not have dreamed about this house, this new life in Wyoming that night, but here they are. He’s been so happy ever since they arrived, happier than he’s been since college, and he somehow neglected to find out how Dean’s been feeling about the whole thing. Dean’s reaction to Leah never even crossed Sam’s radar.

Sam knew Dean has long-standing abandonment issues, but he never imagined that they would rear their many heads here and now, after retiring and moving into this house together. He can’t believe that Dean would actually think Sam wants to replace him with Leah. How many weeks has Dean been torturing himself over this? Sam feels sorry just wondering about it. Dean’s fear of being abandoned runs deep, a lot deeper than Sam previously understood, and it isn’t something that one promise can heal. Sam’s going to have to show Dean day by day that he really is going to stay. He’s going to have to reassure him over and over, let time prove his loyalty and commitment for him. And he’s ready and willing to do that. He retired from their old life knowing that he and Dean have a lot of healing to do, and he’s aware that it’ll require more than a few weeks or months.

It’s not that Sam has sworn off women and romance for the rest of his life. It’s just that he’s reached a point where he doesn’t need his normal life to look like everyone else’s. He’s not a kid anymore, and he’s realized that he can do it his own way. He loves Dean too much and they’ve come too far in their relationship, after all the hell they went through, to split now. He can’t fathom living apart from his brother. Doesn’t want to try.

They lie there on the bed for a long time, Sam holding Dean and Dean just relaxing into it.

“We should do this more often,” Sam says, his voice thick and almost sleepy.

Dean doesn’t even protest. Just lies there and tries not to think about losing Sam.

“Hey,” Sam says, after another minute. “Dean. You gotta tell me what’s going on with you. If you’re worried about something or things aren’t right with us, you gotta tell me. Talk to me. Okay?”

Dean swallows, wanting to wrap Sam’s arm around him tighter. “Okay,” he says, almost whispering.

Sam presses himself against Dean’s back. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean can’t bring himself to speak, so he just shuts his eyes and grounds himself in the weight and heat of Sam against him.


End file.
